


A PENNY WORTH OF PARADISE

by vanhunks



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 15:03:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6663484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanhunks/pseuds/vanhunks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pale moon over a murky lake. An old man and Chakotay, disembodied.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A PENNY WORTH OF PARADISE

**Author's Note:**

> Three things prompted the writing of this story. 
> 
> Firstly, On December 29 2013 Formula 1 racing legend Michael Schumacher fell and hit his head while skiing. He remains in a medically induced coma, with body temperature lowered to keep down the swelling of his head. His wife Corinna was virtually forced after days of constant vigil, to take a break and rest. 
> 
> Secondly, I started reading "Les Miserables" sometime in October 2013. This book is a massive tome and I'm still in Book 1: Fantine. Interestingly, the book opens with a very detailed and vivid story of the Bishop of Digne, a "good man". The title of the story relates to something spoken by the bishop 
> 
> Recently in a thread on VAMB was discussed whether there were any fanfics where Chakotay was the one playing hard to get/unable to commit. I had one vignette in that line. When I started reading "Les Miserables", I thought of writing something again, with Chakotay the one who had trouble returning Janeway's feelings. 
> 
> I wanted to incorporate these elements in my story. "A penny worth of paradise" was the result. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Paramount owns the characters. The Bishop of Digne belongs to Victor Hugo.  
> \---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This could not be hell. 

Hell was fire, and burning, like the burning bush of Moses - endless, never consumed, with gnashing of teeth, arms flailing, writhing and screaming until the end of time. The sins of the sinners' lives playing out before them, real, ugly, with no relief or redemption. Thousands upon thousands of voices crying in fiery damnation.

That was hell.

Not this dark, murky wasteland where the moon cowered behind cloudbanks so low, they touched the leafless trees and meshed into the sludge underfoot. Not this, the heavy slogging through black swamp where every lift of a boot brought with it sticky mud before it landed with a sick squelch into the bog.

He looked around him in vain, for there was no living soul to accompany him, or assure him that his passage was only fleeting, that soon, the landscape would transform to welcome and familiar places. He had no awareness, no history of how he came to be here in this soundless, lifeless, barren expanse.

So he continued his quest, even as he had no idea what he was looking for. 

He peered at his hands, followed their path up his arms. He was wearing strange black clothing. Black and...red? Did he belong somewhere? Was he part of a community of life, of light, of order and discipline? 

Yet, despite the new reassurance, there was inside him a feeling, perhaps a fullness of a corporeal being without soul. Was he just an outward shell moving across murky depths? With no one there? No sound, no sign of life? He raised his hand to touch his face. It felt cold, disembodied. He tried to listen into the darkness. No sound, not even the beating of a heart...

He wanted to cry out at this new discovery. 

Cry? Why would he weep? Was he not without soul? 

He trudged forward, an unknown, deep instinct urging him to keep moving. This time his eyes were fixed on the squelching dark mire. Where else could he look but down? No point of exit or entry existed where he could follow a path and flee the desolation that was not only around him, but within. 

A sudden sound as his boot descended on something hard, metallic. He could not see the object as he moved his foot, so he bent down and plunged his hand into the stinking quagmire, moving gingerly around the area where his boot had landed. He lifted the object from the mud and wiped it on his pants to clean it. 

The moon moved from behind the cloudbanks allowing him enough light to see the object. 

"What is this?" he whispered to himself, surprised at the sound of his own voice.

"That, my son, is a penny. To be precise, a centime."

The voice drifted through the fog to him, a voice without a body, without identity. 

Startled, he looked around him, seeing nothing except that the moon had once again shifted quietly behind the clouds. He felt something to which he could put no name, except that there was a void, an emptiness. Once again, there was a need to weep. How could such a feeling of deep despair persist?

"Please," he said, "please show yourself."

Gazing into the distance, he waited for the owner of the voice to appear. He called out again and waited. Like a spectre swelling from the air, a figure emerged slowly from the darkness.

The stranger wore a long black gown tied at the waist by a sash and over the cassock he wore a hooded cape. He was bent with age, and when he removed his hood, his face looked very old and wrinkled, and his fingers were long and crooked. Yet his eyes glowed. It was a glow that touched the misery of the man looking at him, the coin still lying on his open palm. It was a countenance which broke the sudden sense of disquiet that rose in him.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"It does not matter who I am, Chakotay of Voyager."

"Chakotay?"

"That is your name, is it not?" the stranger asked.

"I do not know."

"Do not distress yourself, Chakotay of Voyager, for in the fullness of time, all shall be revealed."

The old man stepped closer and touched his arm. A warmth spread through him, for he had been cold, cold inside. 

"I am Chakotay..." he repeated, with a strange conviction that he had to accept the name given him. He mouthed the name, trying to familiarise himself with it then shook his head in hopelessness.

"You are in pain," the old man said. He touched the coin in Chakotay's hand, a touch that felt to him like a saintly caress.

"Pain? Is this darkness pain?" Chakotay asked. "It is disquieting. I do not know why I dwell here or how I came to be in this dark expanse. Is this hell?"

"Have you sinned?"

"Are you God?"

The old man's face creased into a smile. It lit up the darkness. He was a head shorter than Chakotay, and had to crane his neck to look up to him. Yet his presence was overwhelming.. 

"I am his servant. I am here to tell you about this coin in your hand."

Chakotay looked at the coin, turned it over once.

"Will this coin save me? It is so small. You said it's a penny, a centime. Is it French?"

"Indeed. Come, let us sit down..."

Before Chakotay could respond with, "But there is no place to sit," the old man pointed to a tree - just branches, devoid of leaves and life. But beneath the tree there was a bench. He could not think how, when walking in this gloomy abyss, he could have missed it. The old man's arm felt warm on his, warm and comforting. They reached the tree and both sat down, the old man first. When Chakotay was seated, the aged cleric faced him. Chakotay thought that God indeed must have touched the man's face, for he could only describe it as beatific.

"My name is Charles-François-Bienvenu Myriel."

Chakotay shook his head. The name was strange. He was certain he had never met this man. 

"I do not know you, but by your dress, you must be a clergyman."

"Aye. That I am, my son. A bishop."

"What shall I call you?" Chakotay asked.

"Monseigneur is good enough for me."

Chakotay nodded. The bishop seemed to radiate light just by smiling. It brought greater warmth to Chakotay. Yet he still could not shake off the terrible gloom, caught in the grip of desolation and despair that surrounded him. 

Bishop Myriel took the coin from Chakotay's lifeless hand and held it between his gnarled fingers. 

"Yes, when I tell you about this centime, you will leave this realm and go into the light."

Chakotay wanted to laugh, then realised he couldn't, it was so cold. 

"How," he asked, "could the telling of a story take me to the light?"

"Did I not say I am God's servant?" The bishop kept smiling.

"This is not a pleasant place," Chakotay said.

"I know, but this is where we are. I can tell you, my son, that even in the light, you dwell in darkness."

"That is not - "

"True? Many have disputed my words. In the end, everything comes together. Will you trust me?"

Chakotay studied the bishop's face. The openness, the gentle smile that never seemed to leave him, gave Chakotay hope.

"Truth, you say... I'll believe you. Tell me."

****** 

PART TWO

Life, Admiral Kathryn Janeway thought as she made her way to Starfleet Medical, dealt even those favoured by the fates some terrible blows. After just two months home in the Alpha Quadrant, she had been thrown into a constant vortex, one which started with defending her Maquis crew at the debriefings leading to her present state of anxiety.

She hadn't slept. How could she sleep? She had been under pain of death to remove herself from the hospital and "go and take a break, child, you look sick." That was Tom's mother, a Starfleet doctor. How could she just walk off and not care? Staying away was not an option, for away from him was just as frightening as staying by his side.

Spring was in the air, she noted, bringing with it the freshness of all nature, the birth of new things, with a sky perhaps bluer that at other times, the sun brighter, the leaves greener, the sunflowers in a burst of yellow. 

Shielding her face with her hand, she crossed the short square that led to the main building of the hospital.  
Her heart thundered. Blood seemed to rush constantly to her head. Sometimes, like a child, she had to pinch herself to remember she was still breathing, still alive. Yet, being alive brought with it all the terror of what had happened and the fear of loss. 

Her footsteps sounded loud, echoing in the quiet air. She entered the cool building, hoping that today...  
She closed her eyes briefly. Today, what will today bring? Was she alone in her pending grief? Why did the rest of the world continue living and laughing while she cared still and was wracked by endless pain and fear and lost hope? 

On the third floor she exited the lift and headed for the large room at the end of the passage where he lay. She took a deep breath before entering the room. The doctor was already in attendance. 

"Kathryn..." Elizabeth Paris called quietly, a smile breaking her sombre face.

"Any change?" Kathryn asked as she approached the bed on which Chakotay lay. Why did she even ask? The last six days it had been the same stock answer: No improvement as yet, Admiral.

"I'm glad you came. Look..."

Kathryn looked at Chakotay. His face was pallid, the tattoo protruding like an ugly weal. His lips were dry, cracked. He had been like this since the accident almost a week ago. She couldn't see anything, except to note that Chakotay's right fist was still clenched, while his left hand lay open, palm up. He had lain like that for days. It was strange to think that they'd been unable to prise open his closed fist, as if Chakotay, in the deepest recesses of the coma, tenaciously clung onto something, like a metallic object. Since it didn't seem to harm the patient, they'd left it. She gazed intently at his face and shook her head.

"I don't see anything, Doctor."

"Look closer, my dear, " Dr. Paris whispered. 

While Chakotay's body was deathly still, his closed eyelids registered a flutter, as if he blinked. Small, almost unnoticed. But it was there. The EMH had opted to keep Chakotay in this deep coma to allow his broken body to heal and his damaged brain to reduce its swelling. The first few days his body temperature had been lowered to support the healing process. By the fifth day Kathryn was losing hope.

Now, the merest flutter. She blinked, battling against the desire to cry. Yet a soft sob escaped her. 

"Kathryn..." the doctor whispered, "there's hope."

"What hope, Doctor? That when he recovers, he'll get on with his life? A life without - without..."

"You in it? Then he's a fool a thousand times over."

"I'm the fool, for hoping he'll change."

Elizabeth gave Kathryn 's arm a gentle squeeze. 

"Tom told me how you would have liked to be everything to Chakotay, on Voyager and here, at home. There was no other in his life... Even Seven of Nine was a phase, an experiment, according to B'Elanna."

"They talked, didn't they?"

"Enough for me to know that there can be no greater love than such as you have for your first officer. I'm sorry that he couldn't see or accept that. Really sorry, for you were meant for each other."

Kathryn nodded wanly, seating herself next to the bed as the doctor exited the ward. Now she was alone with him, a man for whom she'd have given her life if he desired it. Closing her eyes, she thought of lost dinners, hopeless yearning that he'd declare something, even it if were just a little of what he wanted to give. She would have eaten the crumbs.

She thought of the events almost a week ago. She'd been the only one of the former Voyager crew willing to accompany him on a dig in France. He'd said there were new discoveries during the excavations outside Old Paris, in one of the rural districts, conducted by the Federation Archeological Society. They wanted him on the team. He didn't want to go alone, said he needed company, mostly someone who'd be a good sounding board.

Why did she agree? The accident might never have happened. He'd been promoted to captain and had already taken Voyager on a journey to Deep Space Nine and Bajor. On returning home, he'd given a few classes at the Academy in Anthropology. The archeological expedition was in Europe, a hop-skip-and-jump away from San Francisco. She'd stalled at first, pleading work.

"Come along, Kathryn. It'll be good for you. You've been holed up in that office far too long. Besides..."

"Besides what, Chakotay? " she'd asked.

"We're best friends, you know."

As if that was any reason to haul her along with him to something in which she had a fair interest. 

Of course she knew. But in those moments his enthusiasm had been so infectious she'd felt they were two teenagers engaging in a friendship pact. Besides, she wasn't going to let an opportunity go begging when she could be there, right by his side and imagine they were bonded like Will Riker and Deanna Troi.

The archeological site was a nightmare from the start. With already one serious accident when a wall collapsed, work should have been halted. By the time they'd arrived, the wall had been stabilised. 

"What exactly are we looking for?" she'd asked as they abseiled down a deep trench to the floor which, by their calculations, was buried twenty meters below the original surface of the old rural landscape. 

"Artefacts - gold, silver, pottery, however insignificant they may look," he'd replied. "Napoleon was rumoured to have bivouacked there once. Be careful, some of the ground is unstable.."

"You still want to protect me, Chakotay? We're home," she'd told him.

"You're here on my invitation. Of course... Hey, what is this?" 

He'd picked up something, small, round, perhaps an ancient coin. 

"Look here, Kathryn."

Right at that moment he had been bending down and turned to look up at her. The way his eyes suddenly widened alerted her to some danger. Without speaking again he rocked up suddenly, grabbed her round the waist and literally flung her body away from him. She'd been aware only of a rumbling sound, and when she looked up, saw chunks of rock tumbling down. Her scream had been deafened by the sound of the falling rocks. A large chunk struck Chakotay against the head before he was buried under rubble.

Brought back to the present, Kathryn gazed at his sallow skin, the stillness of his features. He had saved her life, something so magnificent, so endearing and so him. Sighing, she settled in her chair and caressed his cheek, hoping against hope that the flutter of his eyelids meant he would wake up soon.

***** 

PART THREE

"I live in the village of Digne," said the Monseigneur. 

Chakotay had no idea where Digne was, so he nodded, saying, "The Bishop of Digne?"

"Indeed. But, I am not wealthy, you must understand."

He had noticed the shabby appearance of the old man's garments. Nothing decorative except the cross on a chain, and, noticing it belatedly, the ring on the bishop's finger.

"I worked among the poorest of the poor, taking offerings so that they could enjoy a meal. People rich and poor came to the church and threw money into the alms box. Donations were always to serve the most needy. People thought that if they made a donation, they'd go to heaven..."

"And that is not how it works?"

"Not at all. But people feel good when they can see how the donations are distributed."

"I understand."

"One day a very rich man passed though our town in a horse-drawn carriage, with blue and white livery. He stopped by the church. I was standing at the entrance with Jean next to me. The rich man took a coin from his pocket - a centime such as the one in your hand -and placed it in the alms box."

"Only a centime? A rich man at that?"

"Jean was just as surprised."

"Jean? Who was Jean?" Chakotay asked.

"Oh, did I not tell? Jean Valjean. He arrived at my home the previous night."

The name "Valjean" sounded familiar, seemed to unlock something in his brain. A sudden vision of something in the sky, a moving object. Chakotay looked at his hand. It became warm, with a healthy colour. He studied his hand in surprise.

"Ah, I see I have touched a memory."

"H-How?" Chakotay stammered as he looked at the back of his hand. 

"When you absorb something that is familiar and good in a place of darkness, colour will appear. It has started."

"A ship..."

"Were you master and commander of your vessel?"

"I don't know... Continue," said Chakotay, suddenly excited at the prospect of more things he might remember. Master... Commander... He had hardly realised it, but it appeared less cold too, the gloom less dismal.

"Jean asked me why a man of wealth could put only a centime in the box when he had just seen an old poor woman put in a few coins - definitely more than the rich man and most likely all she had.

"What did you say to this Jean?"

"I told him how some humans give all they have when they have so little already and others, who have everything, give as little as possible. I told him - I told him..."

The bishop went quiet, staring down at the muddy ground, seeming to plunge into thought.

"What did you tell him?" Chakotay asked.

When the old man looked up, his eyes were saddened, and the ever present smile gone.

"You loved Caroline Meissen with your whole heart."

He was beginning to think the Monseigneur was a deity, or God. The sudden digression didn't bother Chakotay. He didn't question the knowledge of the old man. Rather the name Caroline began to tease his memory. He nodded, suddenly filled with a hazy memory of beautiful Caroline saying she would marry him as he held the ring to her. He remembered with greater clarity feeling whole, loving Caroline with his whole being. 

"I wanted to marry her," he replied. "She was my all."

"And you gave all of yourself, my son. You loved her completely."

"She was the daughter of my ship's Senior Medical Officer. I was young..."

"Caroline Meissen betrayed you in an unspeakable manner."

"She broke my heart..."

Chakotay felt a lurch in his chest for the first time, painful and very real. Suddenly, as he looked down, he saw his other hand changing from sallow and grey to normal healthy. 

"You surprised her in your room with two other men, all naked."

The sudden flash of memory was blinding. He nodded, feeling the great anger he had felt when he was young. Caroline - beautiful, aloof, smart and depraved.

"I was unaware of the level of her depravity," Chakotay answered. "It became worse after I found out. She had no pride; she sneered at me, calling me a coward..."

"And so you did not give your heart again until...until..."

"Nerine. I did not think I would be so foolish again."

"It is not foolish to fall in love. But yes, Nerine never told you that she was married and already with child fathered neither by you nor her husband. You did not believe her father when he confronted you, my son."

"Her father was an admiral," Chakotay said, suddenly remembering the dark, brooding, scowling admiral who broke down the door of his apartment. 

Where did the memories come from? His body was getting warmer too.

"I could not trust anyone again," he continued. Chakotay rose abruptly, realising that the quagmire was emanating a strange, sulphuric smell. He felt that disembodiment again, and a strange fear gripping him.

"And on board your Voyager you were once again betrayed," Monseigneur added. 

Seska...

They were standing at the edge of the swamp. Once, it must have been a pond, with water lilies everywhere. They stood facing one another, although Chakotay had no awareness of how he came to be standing that way, looking directly into Bishop Myriel's eyes. Seska damned him and damned Voyager. He was a prize fool, sucked in by the inconstancy of women. He had sworn...

"After that," he said with a frown, "my heart was closed." Chakotay's frown deepened. 

"Even when Annika loved you."

"Even then."

How had he begun to sense there was a beating of his heart? That even his ears seemed to pound? What was happening to him? He looked up, saw the pale moon shifting gracefully into view. Then he turned to face the Bishop. He still did not know how he came to be in this dark hell, but the 'why' was slowly dawning. 

"I could not entrust my heart to anyone again."

"You gave only enough so as to protect you," said the bishop kindly, his face creasing into a smile again.

"Like the rich man with the centime," Chakotay said, understanding dawning. "Hey - what -?" he cried out suddenly as the old man's hand reached with gnarled fingers for him and bore into his chest. 

Surprised, Chakotay realised that the hand went almost right through him. He cried out when the bishop squeezed the area of his heart, a gentle squeeze. A great, searing warmth filled him.

"The rich man gave as little as he could, my son, when the capacity for giving was a thousand times greater. Who knew, with so much inside of him that he could donate, that fear made him weak."

"I am beginning to understand, Monseigneur. There is - there is..." Chakotay struggled to find a memory, a picture, a signal that would lead to a name. All he knew, while his heart beat rhythmically, was that he sensed a presence, of her...

The bishop smiled. "This time I know not her name, my son, yet I feel your reticence. "

"Kathryn..."

"It is a beautiful name, my son. You are not like the rich man who invested so little of all that he was capable of giving. You are more like my good friend - "

"Valjean..."

"Yes. He was blessed with great strength, great discipline; he emerged victorious from deprivation, hunger, imprisonment that made little sense, but most of all, the capacity to forgive and to love and trust with all his being."

"Monseigneur, look."

"I see. The colour is returning to your body. The only thing that you must do now, my son, is to trust yourself, give all that you are capable of giving. Do not invest just one centime into a lifetime of joy and light. It is an existence without cheer. When you trust your heart, only then will you leave this realm..."

The Monseigneur's face was suddenly replaced by another vision.

"You have great strength and a great capacity for giving. Do not be afraid, for she is worthy of you."

"Kathryn...?"

The bishop pulled his hand from Chakotay's chest. A shuddering racked his body. Slowly the image of the old man in his worn cassock and cloak, the hood now over his head, began to dissipate. It moved away, fading into the darkness.

Distressed, Chakotay cried out her name again, reaching out to her.

"Kathryn!"

***************** 

PART FOUR

Kathryn was sitting quietly by Chakotay's side, her fingers still caressing his closed fist. Her thoughts had been far away, drifting to distant lands, vistas of the Delta Quadrant, memories of Chakotay, of days when she had been blazingly angry with him, of days when she'd allow him to take charge because she was too exhausted, of days when he'd do things for her and she'd complain he was doing too much.

That was the way he had always been, on Voyager and after two months in the Alpha Quadrant. Quietly protective, yet so restrained whenever she'd tried to come too close to him. One moment she'd experience complete delight that he'd kiss her on the cheek, sometimes on the mouth whenever they'd be working late in her quarters. The next moment she could sense the second that remorse set in, the moment of bliss broken and gone. 

Chakotay would get up and leave her quarters, leaving her wondering if she'd ever be able to conquer his heart. 

On Voyager, in the early days so far away from home, it had been natural to drift toward him. He was ruggedly attractive, but that had quickly given way to her discovery that he was much more than that. He was kind, fair, generous, disciplined, innately strong . He had a heart that was big, so big that she had sometimes thought she'd drown in his generosity, finding every day, every month, every year increasingly difficult not to love him with her whole being. How could she not love this warrior who had conquered her heart from the moment she had first seen him? How could she not love him even when she was blazingly angry with him, unwilling to admit that he was right?

If Chakotay had asked her in the first year of their journey to marry him, she'd have had no hesitation in agreeing. In that at least, she had thrown Federation rules on fraternisation to the wind. She was not an asexual being. A great part of her needed to be nurtured in a romantic manner, to be touched at the heart, to feel wanted, loved. Was that not natural in the evolution of the growing feelings on her part that needed reciprocation? She had the man, but the man was not ready to lose his heart, not to her or anyone on Voyager. Seven of Nine had tried, Seven of Nine failed. Kathryn Janeway tried. Kathryn Janeway failed.

What did she foresee in her future? A desire to be the beloved wife of an honourable man? A man, Captain Chakotay, of Voyager? Or face the desolation of being admired but unloved, wanted by everyone but desired by none? Or yet, just be the friend, the good friend, the best friend any man could ever have?

"Oh, God, Chakotay, I would be your friend forever just to be with you," she whispered softly. "I'll walk beside you, if that is all you want me to do..."

Her hand clasped his closed fist. Her eyes began to droop. If I could just put my head down, she thought.

*** 

He felt bereft. Bishop Myriel had simply exited into thin air. One moment his fist had clamped Chakotay's heart and squeezed it rhythmically. The next moment the hand moved out and followed the body drifting noiselessly into nothingness. And, as if on some silent signal, colour seemed to swell into the bleak, dark, cheerless depths, transforming the world around him. 

Splashes of colour so bright they hurt his eyes. The trees, grass, pure white water lilies on the shimmering pond.

Chakotay looked down. His black and red uniform that had been dull in the black night, appeared rich, the colour enhanced by the light of the moon, so clear, so aloof and beautiful. 

He tried to remember the words of the bishop. 

"Do not buy a penny worth of paradise..."

Was that what he had been doing on Voyager? That he had given so little? How long had that been going on? And suddenly, Kathryn's face appeared before him. Her hands were outstretched, her eyes pleading. Everything welled inside him - the knowledge of dismissing what so clearly was a message of commitment from her, time after time after time. For a brief moment he wanted to slip back into the darkness where he could hide from that truth. Her face, so kind, so concerned, so beloved kept him in the light with a searing pain. 

"Kathryn!!" he cried out, raising his hand to try and touch her face.

"Kathryn!" he cried again. But she was gone.

*** 

He felt stiff, unable to move. He kept his eyes closed and felt the weight of pure light on them. Even then, he was unable to stand the brightness. He lay still for a long time, wondering about the deep darkness where he dwelled, not knowing who he was. He licked his lips for they felt very dry. He thought his tongue would stick to his palate. But he was patient, the moisture very gradually filling his mouth, although some part of him registered a raging thirst.

Somehow the light dimmed a little, the pressure on his eyes less traumatic. Awakening to reality was a slow emergence from the shadowy depths. He used the time to try and think about things. His eyeballs ached as he tried to move them, to recollect images, imprints of pictures, voices, sounds. He gave a silent cry as her face appeared, a smile, a flick of her hair, a tug at her ear. Kathryn. A deep, deep sigh escaped him, then the sensation of peace descending. He remembered showing Kathryn the centime, then all hell broke loose when he saw the wall collapse, imploding with a roar. He remembered screaming, then lifting Kathryn and tossing her away from him. The bricks and mortar fell about him, then a glancing blow to the head.

After that...after that...

A pale moon over a murky lake. An old man. Him, disembodied.

What was it the old man said? Something about a penny? The centime he held in his hand. The old man had told him the story of the centime. It meant something. 

Chakotay tried to move his hand, open the fist, but he could not. Something was in the way. He had to show Kathryn the centime and tell her something, something he wanted with his very breath, his soul.

A scratchy feeling under his eyelids. He tried opening his eyes, to see what was imprisoning his hand, then gave up. After a few minutes he tried again. This time they opened slowly, as if he'd been roused from a fitful sleep. He was staring not at the ceiling, but a wide window through which light was streaming. Moving his head he saw someone - a woman - lying against him, his hand in hers. She was deeply asleep, for she didn't wake when he moved his right hand to caress her head. 

"Kathryn..." 

Her name issued as a low, hoarse whisper. She didn't wake. 

So he lay for a few minutes studying her, trying to piece together the events up to and during the accident. She hadn't wanted to accompany him, but he had been so insistent that she came along, so excited when she eventually agreed. A sudden memory intercepted his train of thought, of Kathryn's eyes revealing a momentary pleading in them. The look was gone so quickly, he might have imagined it.

And then, unbidden, upon the first image cascaded the thousand times had seen that look, memories of lost dinners, images flitting by, mostly of Kathryn looking expectantly, then the final damning day he had walked away from her invitation to stay the night... On New Earth he could have, he could have... but he didn't. Of Kathryn wanting, showing her need to be loved, adored, of him holding back.

Thinking about the pain he had caused her, agitation rose like a roaring current from deep inside him, , over and over and over and over waves of despair, of guilt, of remorse crashed through his injured brain... He couldn't stop himself from the shudders that shook his body. 

"Oh, spirits, Kathryn, how I have hurt you!"

In desperation he clutched at her hair, felt her rocking to wakefulness. 

"Chakotay...?"

Her blue-grey eyes were bleary, bloodshot, yet a sudden joy filled them as she looked at him. Her hand released his fist and came to rest in his chest. It descended like a dove of peace, as the old roaring waves of disquiet gently receded. Chakotay gave a deep sigh as his eyes closed at her touch. 

"I dwelt in darkness, Kathryn," he said softly. 

"I thought I would lose you."

"Where I dwelled...there was an old man."

"Your father?" she asked, caressing his chest. He closed his eyes at the almost forgotten joy of it.

"No. But he was very old. He...brought me back."

Kathryn looked deeply into his eyes.

"Who was this man you met, Chakotay, who brought you back?"

********** 

She awoke with a start when she felt her hair being tugged, then drew in her breath sharply when she opened her eyes and saw Chakotay awake.

A wild joy surged through her when she saw Chakotay looking at her intently. She straightened up, for she could see his agitation, the source of it unknown to her. Perhaps, a thought came to her, he had memories of the accident.

He was going to hyperventilate, she realised. She released his hand and placed her palm gently on his chest, in the only way she knew to offer solace.

"I dwelt in darkness, Kathryn," he said softly. "I met an old man."

He tried speaking again. She offered him water, holding the glass to his lips. The water cooled him, gave him the moisture he needed. She placed the glass on the bedstand again.

"Who was this man you met, Chakotay, who brought you back?"

He looked at her a long, long time. Then he opened his fist. On it lay a coin, perhaps a penny, or something. 

"I wanted to show you this, when I hit my head," he said.

"It's a coin, perhaps from the early nineteenth century?"

"It is called a centime. That's what the bishop said."

"The bishop?" Kathryn asked, frowning.

"I met him in the dark world where I dwelled. The Bishop of Digne, that's where he was from."

Kathryn frowned deeply. She knew who the Bishop of Digne was. Chakotay, it seemed, had no clue.

"He brought you back, Chakotay, to all of us, to me..." The last words said on a soft whisper, her eyes welling with tears. 

With a sob, she sank against him, and remained that way, savouring the way his hand caressed her hair. Was there a turn at last? Dared she hope against all hope? Did a fictional character of one of the great novelists of the nineteenth century bring about a change in Chakotay? 

"Kathryn, look at me, please," Chakotay whispered close to her ear. 

She sat up again and gazed into his eyes.

"Many men," he started, "in a lifetime never realise that paradise is so close to them. They fear giving all of themselves. I was a fool many times over. I made you suffer when I knew how you must have felt, still feel..."

"I always hoped you would return my feelings."

"The old man told me how a rich man gave a centime to the church, saying that the rich man bought only a penny worth of paradise."

Chakotay rubbed the centime between thumb and index finger. Kathryn realised that was what he wanted to show her when the accident happened. Some force within him made him cling to the coin even as he flung her away from danger. 

"That man was me, Kathryn. Me. You are worth more, a million times more. You deserve everything and I want to give you that. All of me."

Kathryn, her heart overflowing, threw herself against him once more and sobbed. 

"My beloved..." were the last words Chakotay murmured before he fell into a deep, natural sleep.

Kathryn raised her head to look at the man she'd loved hopelessly for so long. Very gently she caressed his cheek. Sometimes, she knew, it was better to accept the strange and miraculous things that happened in life than simply agonise over scientific reasons for their occurrence. 

Chakotay's chest rose and fell in the blessed reassurance of natural breathing. She trusted him, trusted his promise to her. That was all she wished for now.

Later, she vowed, she'd tell him more about the fictional character from a book who had led him back to her. 

 

**** 

END


End file.
